Whiskey Lullaby
by deanloversnsm67
Summary: One-shot tag to one of Sam's days during his time without Dean in Mystery Spot. Based on the song "Broadway" by the Goo Goo Dolls.


Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, the song "Broadway" by the Goo Goo Dolls, or the song "Whiskey Lullaby" by Brad Paisley.

Your anger don't impress me  
The world slapped in your face  
It always rains like hell on the loser's day parade

You see, you'd love to run home, but you know you ain't got one  
Cuz you're livin' in a world that you're best forgotten  
When you're thinkin' you're a joke and nobody's gonna listen  
To the one small point I know they've been missing around here

Broadway's dark tonight  
A little bit weaker than you used to be  
Broadway's dark tonight  
See the young man sittin' in the old man's bar  
Waitin' for his turn to die

_Broadway by the Goo Goo Dolls_

Loud music blares in Sam's head as he snaps up, alert and awake, in his bed. His drowsy eyes slowly take in the cheap, worn in motel room, looking for the source of the music. But it's quiet. Too quiet. Dead silence envelops and overwhelms him when he remembers that he is alone. He sighs and shakes his head as he swings his long legs over the side of the bed, wondering if he will wake up to "Heat of the Moment" for the rest of his life.

"_Come on, you love this song and you know it."_

"_Yeah, and if I hear ever hear it again, I'm gonna kill myself."_

It seems strange thinking about that first Tuesday, waking up thinking that they'd look into a hunt and the week would go on like always, never knowing that that day would change his life more than one hundred times.

He sat on the edge of the bed, feeling awkward in a room so empty and devoid of sound. Autopilot takes control of his body as he grabbed his jacket and put it on over the wrinkled shirt that he hadn't bothered taking off before falling asleep yesterday. He slipped into his boots and made his way out to the car.

As he got into the driver's seat, he still got the tingly feeling he's been getting for the past 15 days. He feels like he's trespassing. Like if he stood outside the car for a few more seconds, surely Dean would catch up and demand that he step away from the steering wheel. It felt really wrong that Dean wasn't around to protect his baby and that Sam was the last Winchester that the car would be passed to. _The last Winchester..._ He pushed the thought from his mind and drove, in more silence, to his destination. He thought he was going to lose his mind if he didn't hear another person's voice, but he felt dirty enough driving Dean's most prized possesssion, but to listen to "The Hits of Yesterday and Today" on one of the local radio stations, he might as well take a crowbar to the hood. And playing any of Dean's cassettes would put Sam over the edge that he was already hovering just inches away from.

Finally, he pulled into the gravel parking lot of Arny's Pub and made his way to the entrance of the bar. He didn't bother bringing his cell; the only person he gave a damn about anymore was Bobby, and he didn't feel like talking to him. A cold rain was pouring down from the dreary sky, but Sam didn't notice. He didn't really feel anything physically anymore. The only pain he felt was the emptiness inside of him, threatening to push its way to the surface and overtake everything that he stood for. Which was why alcohol had become so appealing recently.

He took his seat at the end of the bar, past the old men smoking cigarettes and wheezing and laughing at jokes that only a drunk man would laugh at. The bartender, a thin woman with straight graying hair in a ponytail, approached him, and he said "Whiskey," before she even spoke. When she returned moments later with the drink, he took a big gulp and let the liquid burn his throat. But he didn't even wince, he just downed the rest and signaled for another. A few more, and then a few more after that, and his head rested on his arms, his body slumped over, practically laying on the counter. He wiped away the tears on his face with is sleeve. The whiskey was like a lullaby, succumbing him to dream-like memories. Slouching against the bar, his composure had been lost somewhere around number four, and his mind drifted once again to the last time he had been in a bar with Dean. He told Dean that he didn't understand how he could not care about himself. Later, Dean finally confessed his fear.

"_Sam, I've been doing some thinking. And...well, the thing is... I don't wanna die. I don't wanna go to hell."_

"_Alright. Yeah. We'll find a way to save you."_

"_Okay, good."_

Tears streamed down Sam's face. Dean finally admitted that he wanted to get out of the deal. He had looked so relieved when Sam nodded and made him feel that it would all be okay. And for a moment it seemed as if a few pounds had been lifted from the heavy burden that Dean carried on his shoulders, and that Sam's words were true. They had felt hope. But Sam had failed. He wasn't able to save his brother from the burning depths of hell. And now he was stuck on earth, living without the only person he loved. _What's the point? God, man I miss you so much. I need you. I need you so bad. What am I supposed to do without you?_

He quickly tried to regain control of himself as much as he could in his drunken state, as the bartender came over to him.

"Sweety, are you alright? Do you want to call someone? Do you need any help?"

"I don't have anyone to call. It doesn't matter anymore. Nothing matters," he shook his head dejectedly, not making eye contact with the woman. "I'll have another drink."

And as she turned away disappointedly, Sam dropped his head back into his arms, waiting for his turn to die, hoping it would come soon. _What am I supposed to do, Dean? What am I supposed to do?_


End file.
